


The Thunderous Roll of a Tropic Sea (the moonlit memory I can't seem to lose)

by phnelt



Series: Leverage Works [6]
Category: Leverage
Genre: Break Up and Make Up, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Honeymoon Heist, M/M, Marriage as part of a con, Multi, Mutual Pining, Polyamory, Set in S5, Threesome, Undercover as Married, fake dating an ex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-06-30 14:44:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19855366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phnelt/pseuds/phnelt
Summary: Hardison and Parker have their heads pressed together. He can’t see Parker’s face, but he can see the way Hardison is smiling at her with his eyes, full of affection. Not for the first time, Eliot wishes he could walk over and slide onto the loveseat next to Parker like he belonged there with them. He lets himself fantasize about it for just a second: how Parker would lean into his side, Hardison would reach out and grab his hand, smile at him just like he was smiling now.In order to stop an arms deal, Eliot and Hardison have to pretend to be married.





	The Thunderous Roll of a Tropic Sea (the moonlit memory I can't seem to lose)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [capeofstorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/capeofstorm/gifts).



> Written for capeofstorm for Just Married 2019, who likes Eliot.
> 
> Beta by Karios and Scintilla 10, they bashed this thing into shape when it was resisting.
> 
> Title from the song 'Sand in My Shoes,' the Connee Boswell version which I am nominating for their first dance song at their wedding.

Eliot stares out at the lush Malaysian jungle that is encroaching up to the window of the private airport terminal. The forest has a menacing quality, dark and somehow grasping towards the windows. Eliot doesn’t want to go full Apocalypse Now but he can’t help but imagine a team of dedicated bush warriors, hacking all of that greenery back every day so it doesn’t devour this airport. By contrast, the lounge he stands in is almost obnoxiously man-made; its luxury is a testament to humanity’s total disregard for the whims of nature. The decor is faux-mid-century modern, with sleek stuffed lounge chairs and tiny round tables. Some chairs are pointed inwards, some facing the windows where he could just barely make out the Arabian sea, peeking out just above the treeline as it touched the horizon. The whole place screams luxury and relaxation. In a very tasteful way. 

The tastefulness is almost completely ruined by the aggressively-American tourist couple who, aside from Eliot and three hovering aesthetically symmetrical attendants, are the only other people in the lounge. Parker and Hardison are wearing identical bright pink Hawaiian flower-patterned outfits. Parker has a matching headband -- somehow she makes it look good. Hardison has limited himself to the shirt with some linen pants, but the shirt is enough on its own. Eliot wants to say that Hardison isn’t pulling it off but, well, Eliot has long given up on pretending he has an objective viewpoint when it comes to Hardison’s attractiveness. 

The look works for their covers though. Hardison’s cover is that he's burning some of his high-tech industry wealth, taking his wife to the world’s most exclusive resort in the Maldives. Everyone knows that those Silicon Valley bros are workaholics, so Eliot’s position as a long-suffering PA might be eccentric but not too out of place. Their job is to get the dirt on the resort’s general manager, who, Sophie says, is an embezzler. 

Should be an in-and-out, a nice job to ease Parker back into cons with the team since her leg finally healed. Not that she’d let it stop her, foiling a kidnapping while using crutches and everything. 

Eliot rubs his hands on his nondescript khakis. He hates jobs on islands -- extraction is always a nightmare. 

Hardison and Parker have their heads pressed together. He can’t see Parker’s face, but he can see the way Hardison is smiling at her with his eyes, full of affection. Not for the first time, Eliot wishes he could walk over and slide onto the loveseat next to Parker like he belonged there with them. He lets himself fantasize about it for just a second: how Parker would lean into his side, Hardison would reach out and grab his hand, smile at him just like he was smiling now. 

That’s when Hardison looks up and makes eye contact with Eliot. Eliot drops his gaze, back of his neck heating, but not before he sees the way that Hardison’s eyes shutter a little, putting that affection behind a veil. 

Mentally, Eliot shakes himself. He can’t go over there anyway, since they’re on the job _. It’s enough that I can watch their backs_ , he reminds himself fiercely, _it’s better that way_. 

Then, in a bare whisper of sarong, an attendant comes by to let him know that they are boarding and he can see another one doing the same for Hardison and Parker. They rise together, Hardison and Parker holding hands, Eliot following a few steps behind. 

*** 

The cabin they are staying in is just as luxurious as the brochures had claimed, complete with a small, side pavilion for the help, aka Eliot. Both are made to look like fishing boats, propped up on stilts hovering just above the waves. Eliot pushes open the door to the main pavilion first, evaluating the room for threats, Parker close behind, checking for bugs or anything hidden. They are smooth, practiced from a thousand other rooms. He trusts her to cover her sector and catch anything that needs catching. 

Eliot clocks the wall of windows opening to the deck and infinity pool next to the clear expanse of ocean, main bedroom off of the living area, and bathroom. That’s a full four exits off of the room so he goes to secure each one. He pushes straight through to the bathroom -- two high windows, locked, jacuzzi sized bathtub. Next, deck. He can see the next pavilion, but it is 50 yards away, they’d be able to see anyone coming. Finally, he pushes into the bedroom. 

Closets, more windows, king sized bed covered in rose petals. All secured. 

He nods at Parker, who is staring at the bed, transfixed. 

“Uh, Eliot…” Parker trails off. 

Eliot looks at her, worried. Parker is holding a USB stick in one hand and a letter, printed out on thick creamy paper. 

She hands him the letter and he scans it as Hardison meanders his way in behind them. 

Eliot finishes the letter, squints, and reads it again from the beginning. 

“Laptop,” Parker requests, making grabby motions at Hardison. 

“That’s all you have to say?” Hardison teases. 

“Laptop, Hardison,” Eliot growls. 

Hardison puts up his hands. “Fine! Fine, here’s the damn laptop.” 

Parker jams the USB stick and opens up a video file. Sophie’s face fills the screen and Eliot groans. 

“--just a minute, Nate,” she is saying. She is sitting there, on the couch, all smug. “If you’re watching this, you’ll have realised that there is no job.” In the background, Eliot hears Hardison shout _‘What!’_ but Parker shushes him. “Surprise! I thought you three deserved a present, so consider your honeymoon on me.” She winks theatrically. “Don’t pretend like you’re surprised, it’s not like you invented intra-team romance and you should have known you can’t keep anything from me. Make sure you try the snorkelling, the water is divine.” And then she waves her fingers at them and the video ends. 

Eliot stares at the laptop while his brain does its absolute best to imitate what it was displaying: total blankness. 

Hardison laughs, but it is mirthless. “Guess it was sure worth breaking up with us. Yep. Definitely let you keep it a secret.” 

Eliot feels his own frustration rise up. “I _told_ you. We were never dating. It was just --” 

Parker cuts him off, “Fooling around. I remember, Eliot.” She turns her head away and says softly, “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Parker’s voice is so tired and she isn’t looking at him and keeps not looking at him and Eliot deflates. He sees Hardison do the same thing, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. 

“I gotta --” Eliot jerks his thumb towards the door that would lead him to the path to the main building. “I’ll get us a plane out of here.” 

“Yeah,” Parker says, not moving. For a second the only thing moving is the waves against the side of the building. Then Eliot walks out and Hardison steps aside to let him. 

_Stupid,_ Eliot thinks, burning as he walks towards the main building. Sophie must have caught them... _when?_ Eliot himself can’t say when they’d fallen together. Their jobs are stressful, emotional, full of adrenaline and require them to stay in close quarters for extended time periods. A powder keg of hormones that is bound to result in, well, lots of amazing acrobatic sex. 

But then Parker and Hardison had made something real, something that could last. Eliot isn’t going to keep planting himself in the middle of that like an anchor keeping them from moving forward. 

_We’re just friends who have sex,_ he’d tried to explain. 

_That’s all dating is, Eliot!_ Parker had shouted back. Parker isn’t a shouter by nature, that was more Hardison’s gig and it had rocked him. 

That was a couple of weeks ago and Eliot had thought things were maybe going to find a new normal. And maybe they would, eventually, but that clearly isn’t going to happen right now. 

Eliot steps into the lobby of the main building, decked out in mahogany and vaulted ceilings. He’s barely taken two steps towards the concierge when he hears a voice. 

“Why, isn’t that Eliot Spencer.” 

Eliot stops dead, a chill crawling up his neck. He knows that voice. That voice belongs to Ambroos Sander. He’d been one of the middling arms dealers that Damien Moreau had run deals through. On Damien’s scale a small fry, but he is responsible for a good chunk of the flow of material into the DRC from the former USSR via the Netherlands, and has been for longer than Eliot had been in the business. Eliot knows him, and he knows Ambroos hates warm climates, beaches, and rural areas. So if he is here… 

Eliot turns around. He lets himself settle into his old skin, draws the stillness of potential violence around himself like a cloak. He doesn’t bother to smile. “Ambroos,” he inclines his head. 

“I had no idea you were also coming to this.” Ambroos takes a couple of steps to bring himself close enough to Eliot that Eliot can feel the warmth wafting off of his round belly. Damien had used to ‘tease’ Ambroos about his size just to watch the barely suppressed rage come up in Ambroos’ eyes. Eliot feels sick. “But then again, I suppose it wouldn’t do to advertise all of the guests in case anyone got...ideas to eliminate the competition, nee?” 

Eliot smirks. 

Ambroos just looks charmed and says, “True, I suppose you would not be afraid of that, my friend.” He chuckles a little. “But I thought that maybe you were no longer so in the world, nowadays.” 

He is fishing, but Eliot has to give him something. Ambroos wouldn’t be here for anything good and if Eliot can do anything, he needs to stop him. Normally, if they were doing a con, they’d find out who, they’d find out what, and they'd find out why, and they’d construct the covers they needed. Eliot doesn’t know any of the particulars, but he has the perfect cover. No one fits in better among a crowd of murderers and gun runners than Eliot. 

“Well, we all need to get our goods somewhere, don’t we?” 

Ambroos makes a show of considering what Eliot is saying. “I suppose this is -- ah but you have company.” Eliot doesn’t let himself panic and he doesn’t turn away from Ambroos. If anyone threatens Hardison and Parker, he’ll take Ambroos hostage. Ambroos always travels with three bodyguards, the Furies. Ambroos changes them out regularly, but the nickname stays the same. He happens to know one of them, Richa Swamiraj, she’s a good fighter but Eliot is sure he can take them out and then...what? Steal a boat? If this is some sort of an auction -- which it probably is given the other presumably high profile attendees, someone will have a helicopter or boat or other way out of this place that isn’t a carefully chartered private resort jet. 

This goes through his head in the couple of seconds it takes Hardison and Parker to step up to flank Eliot. Thankfully, Ambroos does the work for him as he decides to take a step back to take them in. 

“Hello there!” He’s got his jolly avuncular voice on, which sets Eliot’s teeth on edge. It doesn’t suit him. “You must be Eliot’s _companion,”_ he says and reached for Hardison’s hand. Eliot blinks, he hadn’t expected that. Hardison reaches back to shake and Ambroos says, “Oh my apologies, his husband. Very charmed to meet you.” 

Ambroos must have caught a glimpse of Hardison’s ring. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Parker deftly slide her own ring off and tuck it away. 

“Hi. I’m Jamie,” Hardison says. That means he’s keeping to the old cover, smart. 

Ambroos holds on for just a second too long before releasing Hardison’s hand and turns to Parker. “And you are…?” 

Parker stares at him stone faced. “I’m Mr. Spencer’s protection.” 

“Ah! Isn’t that sweet, so protective, isn’t he?” This is directed to Hardison who is rapidly adjusting to the new circumstances. 

Unfortunately, what that means is that he’s draped himself over Eliot’s shoulder, head tucked in against Eliot’s neck. “Isn’t he _just?”_ Hardison gives him an honest to God nuzzle and, from somewhere deep inside, Eliot musters up a smile. It probably looks pretty sickly but it’s the best he can do. 

Ambroos looks _fascinated_ which is just disturbing. But Eliot can’t push Hardison away so he just brings his arm up to cup Hardison’s waist. He tells himself that this is so he’ll have better leverage to haul Hardison out of the line of fire if he needs, but he has to admit it’s mostly just to reassure himself that Hardison is still there. He lets himself brush his thumb against Hardison’s waist, just once. 

“I won’t keep you anymore,” Ambroos gives them a wink, “but I’m putting together a small dinner at my villa at seven.” He waves one hand. “Just a small affair for the principles, but do bring your husband.” He pauses for a second. “I’m sure our host is dying to meet him, you know how he feels about you.” And with that ominous statement he turns away. 

They don’t need to say anything, they just exchange a look and head back to the villa. 

*** 

Thirty minutes and one satellite uplink later, Hardison has hacked plane manifests, pinged all the mobile phones in a 3 mile radius and pulled together a guest list that could have passed for a solid shortlist for ‘most likely to have a dirty bomb laying around, you know, for emergencies.’ 

And at the centre is Sebastien Tomȇtin. 

Parker and Hardison sit on the edge of the bed, rose petals crushed, looking at Eliot seriously. “Ok, run it,” Parker says, and Eliot does. 

He explains how Seb had been a lieutenant of Damien Moreau’s, not too high up but it seems as though that has changed. How Moreau had recruited him right out of French intelligence and the DGSE had been happy to see him go. The man had been grasping, ambitious, but not fanatically loyal to Moreau. 

Judging by the rest of the assembled villains, it isn’t going to be like Moreau’s bomb. There are Chechnyan separatists, Syrian brokers, Taiwanese Triad, Mexican cartel representatives, and of course, Ambroos. All of those players trade in different things, suggesting that this is more of a clearance operation. Or worse, a start-up, a grand opening where Seb can show off what he could offer. 

“The question is,” Hardison says after taking it all in, “how much do people know about how you took down Moreau?” 

Eliot winces. “Tough to say. My involvement wasn’t low profile.” He thinks about how he confronted Damien directly. Then he thinks about the warehouse and all the bodies. It wasn’t subtle. 

Parker and Hardison just nod. “Ambroos seemed to think that it wouldn’t be an issue. I think we have to go with that.” 

“Speaking of Ambroos,” Hardison says, “what did he mean ‘how he feels about you?” 

And Eliot knew this was going to come up so there is no point in pretending. “Seb and I had a bit of a...thing.” 

Parker tilts her head like a bird. “A thing?” 

“Yes, Parker, a thing.” 

“You mean like you had with us?” 

Eliot chokes. “No! No way. I never --” _liked him,_ he wants to say. They are looking at him expectantly. “It was just different,” he finishes. 

“How many different types of relationships are there? It seems like there are too many.” Parker sounds baffled and Hardison just gives her a pat on the arm. Eliot thinks about arguing with her, but well, she’s not wrong. 

Eliot changes the subject. “Parker, why the bodyguard cover?” 

She blinks a little, straightening. “Sophie got to be you, but I never got to be you. I thought it would be fun!” Eliot remembers when Sophie impersonated him for a job. It was unnerving. But that logic does make sense for Parker. 

“Not that this isn’t a fun chat, but what’s the plan?” Hardison cuts in. 

“The plan is…” And Eliot is torn. Half of him wants to say that the plan is they take ‘em down and stop the sale of the machinery of death, half of him just wants to get Parker and Hardison as far away from these people and their poison as fast as possible. He doesn’t like this world, doesn’t like the way it makes him think, the things it makes him do and he doesn’t want any of that to touch Hardison and Parker. 

“The plan is, we stop them.” Parker’s voice is firm, clear. And Eliot is helpless to do anything but nod. 

The plan, by necessity, has some holes. There’s a lot they don’t know going in. But the fundamentals are familiar. They’ll find the cache, if it’s onsite, hide it until it can be moved, intercept the cash, frame Seb, get out. Put like that, they’ve done it hundreds of times. 

*** 

Hardison packed nothing but Hawaiian shirts as part of his cover as ‘bored tech millionaire on vacation’ and they double perfectly for trophy husband Jamie so he’s good to go, but Eliot’s scrambling through his suitcase to find something that could pass as his own clothing. He manages to assemble something out of the baggiest pair of chinos, his ‘oh shit I gotta kick some guys’ boots, and an undershirt. The final piece is a long-sleeve button-up from Hardison’s bag. It’s big on him, hanging off of his frame, and he tugs on it, unhappy. It feels like he’s trying to slide on a skin that doesn’t fit right. He doesn’t know how to be the Eliot Spencer that these people are expecting. 

“Here,” Parker says, and folds up the cuffs. It’s better, he can move his hands now. 

He nods at her and she pauses like she might say something, but she just nods back at him and takes a step back. Parker always keeps a climbing outfit with her, in case she has to skulk around, so she’s got some plain black clothes to wear, but he notices she’s made a few changes. She’s got a scarf folded and wrapped around her head like a bandana, and a coil of leather delicately hanging between her collarbones, dipping just under her neckline where he can just out the outline of the key hanging from it. 

Apparently when she says it’s her chance to be him, that means she is going for it all the way. Eliot wonders how narcissistic it is, on a scale of one to Nate, that he thinks she looks good. It’s not just the accessories, it’s the angle of her jaw, set and solid, and the loose way she’s carrying herself, weight evenly set and balanced. 

He reaches out and gently taps the key that’s sitting against her heart, careful not to brush the skin. “Leave it off,” he says, voice low. 

She angles her chin up. “It fits the character.” 

“It’s a liability in a fight.” 

Her eyes sparkle at him curiously. He sighs and kind of grimaces a little. “The cuffs, the bandana,” he gestures at them, “they stop sweat and blood. The necklace is just for me. It’s to,” he tastes the words, trying to find the right ones, “to remember.” 

He clears his throat and steps back. He knows she’s thinking about all the different pendants and loops and patterns he’s worn over the years. She won’t crack that code, he’s always real careful to never wear anything overtly identifying. No one knows he associates the eagle wings with Oklahoma and he only wears it when he’s homesick something fierce. He’s buried the rules of when to wear what under layers of meanings lost to time. Except if he’s unlucky, and he so often is, she might remember that he’s been known to wear a key just like the one she is. In fact, exactly the one she is, cause he knows it goes to the back door at the brewpub. 

But all he says is, “Take it off,” and she nods and turns back to the main room where her bags still are. 

Eliot takes a deep breath. “Hey,” he says to Hardison who is lounging back on the bed. 

“Oh, are you talking to me now?” 

Eliot resists the urge to roll his eyes and decides not to pick the fight. “I’m just checking in about the --” Eliot waves his hand between the two of them. 

Hardison gives him a hard stare. “I can do my job, if that’s what you mean.” 

But Eliot can’t let it go. “I know you can do the job.” He keeps his voice gentle. “But it’s still a lot considering how mad at me you are.” 

Eliot gets that hanging out was going to be weird under the best of circumstances until they can find a new normal. He thought they were starting down that path, Hardison had been putting less and less real dagger underneath his biting comments. But this is the type of situation that can blow everything wide open, shoving their faces in whatever type of feelings are floating around. Eliot’s feeling it but he’s locking it down. Hardison’s different. He wants to give Hardison a express himself now, before it has the chance to go horribly wrong. 

Hardison licks his lips. “I’m not mad.” Eliot pauses, impressed at how baldfaced that lie is. “Nah, man.” Hardison whuffs out a breath. “Ok, fine, I’m mad. But I’m not _just_ mad, or, or even mostly mad.” Hardison knocks his head against the pillow, which being full of feathers, just swallows him up. Hardison says his next bit to the ceiling and Eliot wishes he could see his face. “You just took yourself out of my life and I’m not used to it yet. We went from dinner, like, all of the time, and you trying to make me go fishing, and the glorified torture you call self-defense lessons to...nothing.” 

Eliot frowns. “I’m still here. I just.” Eliot clears his throat. “I was giving you and Parker couple space. To do,” he tries to explain, “couple things.” 

Hardison props himself back on his elbows. “First of all, Parker and I have our thing going on. We climb terrifying buildings and watch movies about robots. We just watched Wall-e, she said Eva reminded her of you. We’re fine.” Eliot knows that. “Second, even if we were all still,” and it’s Hardison’s turn to wave his hand between them. Eliot tries not to drop his eye to where Hardison’s muscle is bunching as his arm works to support Hardison’s weight all on its own. “Even if we were, you don’t get to choose how and when Parker and I spend time together. That’s our business and you don’t get a say there.” Hardison is glaring at him now. “And frankly it’s a little insulting that you’re using my relationship with Parker as a shield so you don’t have to reject me to my face.” 

Eliot’s mouth drops open, suddenly furious. Hardison has _no_ idea what it was like watching him and Parker get closer and closer, knowing that Eliot was getting squeezed out so they could make something bright and uncomplicated and easy to explain to the neighbours. Third wheel is an unattractive look and at least Eliot did something about while they could still all be friends.Hardison could at least do him the courtesy of not saying things like ‘I hope breaking up with us was worth it,’ and ‘stop using my relationship as a shield.’ He opens his mouth? to give Hardison a piece of his mind when Parker walks back in, minus necklace. 

She takes in the scene, frowns, and just says, “Let’s go.” 

The fall into formation on the outside of their upside-down house boat and start walking on the raised stilt path that will lead them three house boats down to Ambroos’ accommodations. The moment they step outside, Hardison melts against Eliot, pretending at an empty-headed giddiness that’s worlds away from the conversation they didn’t get to finish in the bedroom. He’s got his hand pressed to the inside of Eliot’s elbow and Parker is a shadow, three steps behind and dead silent. If she wasn’t considerately staying in Eliot’s peripheral vision, he’d never know she was there. 

Too soon they’ve made it two stilt platforms down and Ambroos is opening up the door and waving them in enthusiastically. Eliot and Hardison enter hand-in-hand and Eliot’s not really paying Ambroos any attention as he clocks the room. Layout appears to be the same as their cabin, the only difference being that this main room has a low table set up in the middle surrounded by cushions, on top of which sit some of the most dangerous people in the world. And the walls are decorated by a smattering of bodyguards that line the walls instead of woven reed art pieces. 

Eliot notes that all three of Ambroos’ Furies are staring at Parker in undisguised interest. That’s a disaster waiting to happen, or an unholy lifelong friendship about to be born. Even odds and either way Eliot doesn’t want to be there to see it. 

And from the far edge of the room, rising gracefully and coming towards them, is Seb. 

Eliot had forgotten how good he looks. He’s tall, fit but still lithe, and decked out in a linen suit. He gets why Ambroos thought Hardison was his. Hardison and Seb could be brothers except that Seb’s eyes are lighter, and, you know, have the flatness of a killer’s in contrast to the warmth Hardison carries with him everywhere. It’s like looking into a dark mirror; Seb is confident and cold where Hardison is considerate and kind. 

“Ah, but it has been a long time, Eliot, has it not?” Seb leans in for the traditional cheek kisses. His cologne is the same. Eliot’s not sure how to feel about that. 

Seb turns towards Hardison. “Surely you are not the husband, you are too handsome for our Eliot.” Eliot feels the way Hardison’s hand grips his a little, but he doesn’t let on any discomfort, just blushing and demurring like his role demands. “You must have thirst. Come, Eliot, I will show you to the drinks.” 

Eliot nods at Parker as he heads off. She nods back, message received; she’ll stay stuck to Hardison’s side until they leave. 

As expected, Seb pulls him out onto the deck, the drinks merely a transparent ploy to get him alone. And this is the tricky part. Seb is the only one who knows for sure that Eliot was not invited to this auction and Eliot needs to give him a convincing reason to let him stay. 

Seb just raises an eyebrow. “I must confess, I am curious how you came to be here, and you know how I am when I am curious. So, will you soothe me, Eliot?” And then he stares at Eliot expectantly. 

They’d decided how they were going to handle this back in the room and Eliot sticks to the script. “C’mon Seb, you had to have known you couldn’t keep this from me. Given what you’re selling...and where you got it.” 

Seb barely startles, which Eliot chalks up to Eliot being so brazen, rather than disbelieving. But Eliot has never had patience for doublespeak and Seb would know that. And besides, Eliot had made it is his business to know where Damien Moreau was and what he was up to at all times. It was only in the last couple of years that he’d given himself the luxury of not looking over that particular shoulder. He is paying for it now. 

Seb strokes the bottom of his chin and hums. “Then why do the staff tell me that you are on your honeymoon?” Eliot’s impressed, not surprised though. Seb is always thorough, careful. 

Eliot shrugs with a carelessness he doesn’t feel and says, “Can’t a man mix a little pleasure with business?” 

“I suppose it is as you say, and few have as much of a claim on the merchandise as you.” Seb smiles and says, as if the thought is only now occurring to him, “And your presence says much about the authenticity of the merchandise. You may stay.” Seb slaps him on the back and makes as if to go back inside. But then he pauses. “Still, I am curious about this man who has so captured you, this Jamie.” Eliot feels some dread. Curious is bad, curious means attention, and Eliot wants to whisk Hardison away somewhere cleaner and nicer where no one can put their beady eyes on him. “I will be watching!” He sounds almost cheerful about it. 

Eliot makes sure to snag a couple of closed beers from a tasteful ice bucket on his way to where a Chechnyan man is saying to Hardison “...you are trying to put a hat on my head.” 

Hardison’s smile is straining at the edges but he’s keeping in character. “I don’t know what you mean, I’m really Eliot Spencer’s husband.” 

That’s his cue. “Here,” he says, using the bottle in his right hand to pop the cap off the one in the left, then vice versa. He passes off a beer to Hardison and checks the label: Tiger. Not his type of beer; usually he likes hoppier beer but when at a tropical resort, you drink the light lagers you’re given. 

“Thanks, babe,” Hardison says and ducks his head to brush a kiss on Eliot’s cheek. 

This sets the Chechnyan off on a burst of language complete with emphatic hand gestures. He’s talking to his partner and Eliot wants to imagine he’s saying something like: 

_Wow, it’s that incredibly deadly and intimidating Eliot Spencer! Can you believe he’s here? We must be on our best behaviour because I am very scared of him and what he will do to me if I so much as look at his husband wrong._

But what he’s probably saying is more like: 

_Eliot Spencer? Wasn’t that Damien Moreau’s lapdog? He was always following his every order What’s he doing here on his own pretending like he’s a real player. I always knew he was soft, can you believe he brought his boy toy to a work meeting._

Eliot subtly positions himself between the man and Hardison. 

“Do we have a problem?” Eliot asks, voice low. He can see Parker reacting to the tone as she shifts her weight forward onto her toes, ready to run or fight. 

“No! Is, uh, no problem for me.” He looks around for a second, tense. The man’s eyes cut to the right and Eliot sees a shadow grow as Seb approaches. 

“Alu, you should be congratulating Eliot, he’s on his honeymoon.” 

Alu’s eyes widen. “This is cause for drink! Ramzan, get the vodka.” 

Eliot closes his eyes for a second, just one moment to contemplate all of the horrible life choices that have led him to having his fake gay marriage toasted by the head of a Chechnyan splinter cell. 

The drinks are dutifully passed out and drunk to their health. Refilled. Then Seb says, “I too wish to toast.” His voice is soft and dangerous. Eliot braces himself. “To the man whose hard work brought us all here today, a friend to all of us here.” He raises his glass. “To Damien Moreau.” 

Eliot feels Hardison startle next to him while the rest of them are raising their glass. Hardison refusing to drink would really undermine their air-headed trophy husband cover. Trophies don’t get to have opinions about Damien Moreau. No matter what Hardison knows about what the man did personally and professionally. Maybe Hardison never thought he’d have to drink to the health of the man, but here we are and the success of their mission means they can’t blow it. Besides, Eliot knows this is targeted at him, knows this is Seb’s way of trying to rile him up. 

Eliot grabs Hardison’s wrist. _Don’t,_ he thinks desperately as he brings his glass up to his lips and knocks it back. _Don’t react, don’t say anything._ Even after Hardison knocks his shot back,Eliot keeps his eyes locked on Seb and feels his heart sink when he sees the light of satisfaction turn on in his eyes. _He just wants to get to us,_ Eliot thinks. _I’m not going to give him satisfaction._ He just needs to get Hardison onboard that plan. 

He turns Ramzan and Alu to gauge their reaction. They’re looking at Eliot in undisguised interest. It’s a delicate moment. They all know Eliot was involved in taking Damien down and there’s no way they missed how Hardison reacted to his name. Everyone here is looking for weakness, for a chance to assert themselves. Eliot reaches for the vodka, deliberately slowly, hefts it in his hand, consideringly. 

Ramzan’s eyes widen just a little and Eliot can’t deny the little thrill he gets from it. 

“This stuff’s good,” he says, smiling and everyone smiles back. Eliot fills Hardison’s shot and the others rush to push out their glasses, except for Seb who does it slowly, eyebrow raised. Eliot considers for a second. “To making new friends,” he says and Alu and Ramzan nod at him enthusiastically. Good. It shows that at least they don’t want to be on his bad side. “May they prove better than the old,” and he throws back his shot. 

*** 

“Man,” Hardison says as he flings himself down on the bed. “Arms dealing is sure a sausage fest.” 

Eliot snorts. “Shoes off.” Hardison just waves at him and Eliot reaches down to yank them off. 

“Except for those women in the back,” Hardison acknowledges. 

“Everyone calls them the Furies,” Eliot explains. “Ambroos said he was inspired by Qaddafi in the 90s and has only had female bodyguards since then.” 

“Can I just say? These guys? The worst.” 

Startled, Eliot barks out a laugh. 

Hardison gets pensive, “Though -- and this might have just been me or are they very accepting of our alternative lifestyle?” 

“They’d definitely wait till we left Seb’s protection to knife us, if that’s what you’re asking.” If he needed to do business with them on an ongoing basis it might be a problem, but then again Ronnie Kray made his thugs admire his boyfriend, so maybe Eliot could pull it off if he was willing to break enough kneecaps. His little display with the vodka showed that even though he hasn’t done very much murdering in the last while, his reputation still has the shine on it. 

_This is just temporary,_ he reminds himself, _quit thinking about this._ This was the problem with covers that were too close to reality, it was harder to keep them from blurring. It happened when they were doing the job at the boxing ring, and this one was even closer to playing himself. He needs to remember that the guys in that room aren’t in his world any more. 

Hardison chews on that for a second before addressing Parker, “What did you learn?” 

Parker makes a hushing noise, pulling on one ear. Eliot’s thinking the same thing. If he had half a brain, he’d be listening in to everyone’s conversations and unfortunately most of these guys have at least that. 

Hardison just rolls his eyes. “Relax, I’ve basically turned this room into a Faraday cage.” Parker frowns and looks over at Eliot. Eliot looks back and points at the window. She nods. Whatever he’s done won’t help if they’ve got a directional mic pointed at their massive window. Hardison’s not done though, “And I’ve taped Eliot’s electric shaver to the window, the vibrations of which’ll disrupt whatever other pickup they’ve got.” 

Eliot is grudgingly impressed. Hardison must pick up on that because he says, “What, you two think you’re the only ones who know anything about spycraft? I’ve got skills.” 

Eliot just smiles at him fondly and Parker bounces over to Hardison. “You do,” she says, kissing him on the cheek. She passes over her phone. “I cloned everyone’s phones.” 

“Hm,” Hardison says, already loading in the info. “Any other surprises?” 

Parker shakes her head. “But I’ll know more when I bug Seb’s room tomorrow.” The dinner hadn’t all been sly asides. Seb had explained how it would work. Each group would get a window tomorrow morning to look at a sample of the merchandise, and then runners would pass sealed bids back and forth throughout the day. 

Parker looks over her shoulder at Eliot. “What about you? What did Seb say?” 

He gives them a rundown of the text and subtext, which is basically, _I’ve got my eye on you._

Parker cocks her head thoughtfully. “You’re going to have to really sell it tomorrow.” Eliot doesn’t even sigh because he’s already figured that part out. The whole plan hinges on no one poking any holes in Hardison’s identity. None of the hotel’s guests would react well to finding out that a famous hacker, or, god forbid, a famous thief was in their midst. 

“Can we make that a problem for future Hardison? Current Hardison is becoming one with this mattress and thinks you should join me.” 

And that was another problem. He couldn’t leave them to sleep unprotected, and besides it would look suspicious if he did. But by the same token he definitely couldn’t send Parker away to where he couldn’t watch her back to throw off Seb’s suspicion. 

“Then roll over, Alec.” Hardison grumbles. “Don’t whine, you know Eliot needs line of sight to the door.” Eliot bites the inside of his cheek. That doesn’t help with the -- “I’ll take window-side and I’ve got the taser all ready.” She turns to face Eliot and he realises this has all been for his benefit. “Ok?” She gets it, and she’s asking if this is going to be enough. 

He nods, throat too tight to speak. She gives him a quick, tight smile before padding off to the bathroom and he feels pathetically grateful. He takes a couple of breaths to shake it out and since she left the door open, he follows her. 

He lathers up a toothbrush and makes eye contact with Parker in the window. “Thanks,” he says gruffly and means thanks for everything, from the wordless way she understands him to the way she’s planning everything. 

She pauses for a second and he can see her deliberating whether to act clueless but she spits her toothpaste and says, “We’re still a team.” 

*** 

The next day is torture. A very tactful resort employee comes early in the morning to cook and feed them waffles on their deck. Mid-way through Eliot’s second waffle, Parker mutters " _Look"_ and Eliot looks up to see one of the Furies holding a pair of binoculars from the cabin opposite. 

“What?” Hardison says and Eliot throws up his hands as Hardison turns fully around in his seat to look over. “Oh,” he says, startles, and then waves. He turns back to Parker and Eliot’s disbelieving stares. “What?” When they say nothing he says, “She’s clearly trying to give us a heads up that we’re being spied on, I felt like it was only polite to let her know her message was received.” And then he slurps up some coffee. 

There isn’t a lot to spy on, at first, since Eliot’s first stop is the furthest cabin to check out the merchandise. 

He is escorted by a nameless, silent guard in a black suit. He keeps a sensible three paces away from Eliot, not enough to let him pull a gun, but hopefully enough time to react defensively if Eliot charges him. Just for giggles, he stops abruptly to see how the guard reacts. He flinches, which is pretty gratifying. 

There is a similarly dressed guard at the beach end of the raised walkway. And two guards at the door. Eliot wonders what the staff think is going on here. Or maybe running a luxury resort on a private island is always this strange. 

His escort opens the door and waves him in. “Not going to take me all the way?” The guard just snorts and Eliot can see why since there is no shortage of guards on the inside. And Seb, who is reclining on the couch with a small briefcase on the coffee table in front of him. 

Slowly, hands in plain view, Eliot walks up to the couch and stands next to it. Seb waves and Eliot sits down, pulled the briefcase towards him. 

Before he opens it he pauses and raises an eyebrow at Seb. “How many of these have you done already?” 

“You are the last.” 

“Hell on the voice, right? Explaining it over and over?” Seb only nudges his jaw at the briefcase, but Eliot can tell he’s amused. 

Eliot opens the briefcase. It’s what he expected, stacks of invoices and officially stamped forms. 

“Can I…” Eliot trails off as an attendant hands him an iPad. “Oh, an iPad,” he says for Hardison and Parker’s benefit, “how modern.” He already knows what he’s going to find. All of these documents are legit, or legit enough to fool anyone, each one corresponding to its own munitions stockpile, rendering them fully sellable and shippable. Each one has been matched with a database number, which he can use the iPad to confirm. He takes his time to study the documents. _Lift the iPad a little higher,_ Hardison’s voice says in his ear. He casually lifts it, just a little. 

The problem with arms dealing is never getting the weapons. The world is drowning in armaments of every type with more and more getting pumped out every year. Heck, the US military decommissions totally usable tanks every year just to keep factories in swing states producing. It’s a trick they learned from the Soviets to keep unemployment down, and it works. So finding and getting whatever you want isn’t the problem. 

It’s that nothing is anonymous. Oh, you can strip the stock off an AK, file the barrel and presto you’ve got a new gun, but everyone already had an AK. All the new stuff, the real quality shit, is _distinctive._ Nowadays everything is proprietary, branded, and sometimes, God save us, ‘smart’ -- which means that every time it moves it pings something in some database somewhere. What that all adds up to is that you can’t set off one measly rocket launcher without everyone knowing _exactly_ where you got it. It’s like a hot painting, stealing it is only half the job. 

Now, some people don’t care. The Saudis have been perfectly happy to fuel civil war in Yemen by directly handing Islamist militants British-made weapons. They turn them around so quick that Eliot has wondered if the British just deliver them directly. 

This causes a lot of difficulty for arms dealers, who struggle to keep up with the ever-growing demand for weapons. Maybe they’ll get twenty orders for RPGs, and why not? Rocket propelled grenades are portable, collapsible, and are one of the few things that’ll make the difference against an armored division. But who is going to give one up? Now that the former Soviet caches of RPG-7s have mostly been depleted, where are you going to get your hands on something more modern, like a Mk 153 SMAW? But the moment you fire one, someone very large and official is going to come down like a ton of bricks on Nammo, the only company in the world that makes them. 

Which is where Damien Moreau found his niche and the secret to his longevity. His brokerage included a complex series of documents and shell companies that muddled the trail just enough to suggest that sure, someone shouldn’t have sold you that weapon, but really, could have been anyone who did it, and do you really want the headache of the international cooperation that would be required to chase this down? And hey, maybe they did just buy it at an arms fair, nothing we can do about that. 

Getting those documents requires an immense amount of blackmail, bribery, infiltration, and general corruption, and had been the justification for 90% of the evil Damien Moreau ever did. Eliot hasn’t given it much thought, but he’s sort of assumed that the ability to produce that work went down with Damien Moreau. That with no one to hold up the complex web, it would collapse. 

Eliot leans back, stroking his jaw with his thumb. 

Seb’s plan is brilliant in its simplicity, really. He’s selling some very wanted stock in the form of cruise missiles, RPGs, and other small munitions, but he’s also implying that he has Damien’s superhuman ability to create ghost trails. 

Eliot flips through the papers again. “Is this all?” He asks mildly but a small vein pops in Seb’s forehead. _Yeah Seb,_ Eliot thinks, _I’m calling your bluff._

Seb tries to mimic his tone, “Are you planning a big party? Is this not sufficient for your needs?” 

Eliot spreads his palms -- _no, sir, I don’t want any trouble_ \-- and acknowledges that it is. “For now,” he says nodding his head once. “But you never know what you’ll need in the future, right?” 

Seb should be pressing him, angling to get Eliot excited for future shipments -- _you think this is good, just wait to see what I pull out next._ But all he does is press his lips together. 

Eliot keeps his voice soft, lets it go dangerous, “You didn’t think I’d notice?” Unsure, the guards shift, a windchime of gently clinking metal. The top documents are all present and accounted for, but they’re all old. The newer documents are missing elements. “If I had just been mindless muscle, he wouldn’t have kept me around.” 

Seb passes a hand over his face, an old tell that was already a weakness when Eliot knew him. “What do you want?” 

Eliot leans back, settling himself. “The real question, is what do you want?” Seb blinks at him and Eliot knows he has him. “Seb, you knew I’d notice that your documents were light. You were testing me, which I’ll let you get away with just once cause we haven’t seen each other in a while. So how about you tell me what you need and I’ll tell you my price.” 

“So simple?” 

“I haven’t said yes yet.” Eliot shrugs. “Let’s just say I know I’ve got skills and I know those are valuable and I’ve got a new husband I need to keep in private jets.” Seb lets himself smile, just one twitch of his lips to the right, but on Seb that’s the equivalent of a full chuckle. “So I’m willing to consider it.” 

Seb shrugs, a full body insouciant French movement that carries Seb all the way to his feet. Eliot follows suit. “More than fair. I need to think.” 

“Take your time, but not too long, this offer expires when I leave the island.” 

“As you say,” Seb says, gesturing towards the door. 

Eliot turns to head out when Seb’s voice stops him. “Dinner.” Eliot turns back. “Have dinner with me. We’ll talk then. Don’t bring your husband.” 

“See you then,” Eliot says and heads out. 

*** 

Eliot has to stay quiet all the way back to his cabin since he is being shadowed by his new silent guard friend, but as soon as he is back inside their room and the guard is gone, he turns to Parker and Hardison and says, “You got that?” 

“Yes. He was flirting with you shamelessly.” Hardison sounds way too offended about that. 

“He really wasn’t,” Eliot says but Hardison ignores him. 

“You’re a married man! I’m right here!” Hardison puffs up. 

Parker cuts him off, “We got the pictures.” Hardison deflates. They hadn’t been sure there would be an iPad, but once he had one in his hands, he knew what Hardison would do. He’s seen Hardison hack into many Apple products using some sort of Zero-Day exploit in FaceTime. Living with Hardison really warps his relationship with technology, like he needs any other reasons to be paranoid. 

“Is this enough?” Eliot asks. 

Parker rests her chin on her fist. “We’re still going to need to intercept a courier. I think you should ask to put in a bid.” 

Hardison shuffles a little. “Isn’t that dangerous? Won’t he get suspicious?” 

“I could say it’s for the accuracy of the thing, that it would be weird if I was the only one not bidding.” They’re both nodding along. 

“How do we get the bids to Parker? It’ll be weird if she just edges her way in.” 

Eliot speaks without really thinking. “We use the couple angle. No one looks at the third when there’s a couple around, they turn into background.” 

Hardison and Parker stare at him, eyes wide. 

Eliot feels caught out, like a raccoon when a human comes out with the recycling, bright lights and hands where they shouldn’t be. He shifts uncomfortably. “What?” They don’t say anything and he reviews what he just said and flushes. “You know that, and we already talked about it.” He clenches his hands. “I’m going to freshen up,” and he pushes his way between them and into the bathroom. 

He takes his time washing his hands, rubbing them over and over. Then he throws some water on his face for good measure. Gripping the edge of the sink he glares at his reflection. _Get it together,_ he thinks to himself. _You’re trying to salvage this so you can stick around. And it doesn’t help anyone if you keep saying this self-pitying shit. Just fucking cope, Eliot._ He has had enough, he's had more than enough. 

He squeezes the sink until his knuckles go white. 

*** 

When he steps out, they get back to business, and Eliot needs to be on. They have some time to kill till dinner and all he needs to do is get a bid in when Parker is around. And that is easy to sort. Eliot puts in a call on his room phone, setting up a time. 

Parker suggests they go for a walk on the beach and after hemming a little, Eliot agrees. It’s a nice, public activity that gives them an excuse to do a full recon of the area of operations. The trouble with it is that it’s a public activity where Eliot is expected to be on in his cover as devoted husband. 

Their secondary objective is to look for potential points of egress, or ideally a boat, while Parker stays back at the cabin for now, going over the data. That’s the part he thinks he can handle. 

Parker eyes them critically before they step out. Hardison’s in his Hawaiian shirt and she nods, but then she frowns down at Eliot. Circling him, she untucks his shirt, rolls up his shirt cuffs, kneels down to roll up his pant cuffs to match. He stands there, stiff as a board, letting her have her way with him, focusing on keeping his breathing even and not reacting to her touching him. He tries to say, as neutrally as he can, “Arms dealer Eliot wouldn’t show so much skin,” when she’s unbuttoning his top buttons. He can’t do anything about the way his skin pebbles, just a little, in response to the feeling. 

“Yes, but trophy husband Jaime needs easy access.” 

Isn’t that just a picture, Hardison, mad at him but faking love, taking advantage of the strips of skin that Parker keeps revealing to slide his fingers along Eliot’s wrist, or along his lower back, or against his collarbone. He swallows. “You done?” he asks, voice only slightly hoarse. 

Parker gives him a final critical eye and nods. 

They set off, the two of them strolling next to each other. 

It’s a great day for it, warm but not sweltering, sunny, and the tide is low so they can walk on cooler sand. It’s the textbook definition of ideal but even on the beach, Eliot can’t relax. 

He keeps thinking about his cover, asking himself _what would Eliot Spencer do here?_ By which he means, what do the arms dealersexpect of him? He’s spent a lot of time moving past the Eliot those men know; he’s learned to cook, to breathe, to feel, and how to generally be a person during the last few years. And Hardison and Parker have never _met_ the other Eliot, who had been bored by Ambroos’ jolly uncle routine and Seb’s purring menace. He’d mostly been a weapon set to standby, waiting for the necessary moment to strike. Old Eliot never got into any of the good natured grumbling matches that made up 90% of his and Hardison’s conversational style. 

Turns out playing himself is his hardest role. 

_“You look like you’re out on a school trip,”_ Parker says over the earbuds, _“Hardison, hold his hand.”_

Immediately, Hardison reaches out and does it. Braced for it, Eliot lets his hand get grabbed. He doesn’t think Hardison has ever held his hand. _Parker_ has, but usually just to drag him somewhere, or to play with the scars on his knuckles. When Hardison wants him to do something he gets more tactile, he’ll poke or shove two-handed, getting Eliot just where he wants him. 

Eliot can do hand-holding though, he’s fine. 

They walk along for a while more. 

He’s doing a shoulder check when Hardison tries to put his fingers in Eliot’s back pocket and Eliot flinches. 

“Eliot,” Parker’s voice snaps in his earpiece, “you need to relax.” He looks up and he can see that she’s standing outside their cabin with her own pair of binoculars. He grimaces in her direction. He knows he needs to relax! He was just _saying_ that. So he tries, he takes a couple of breaths and when Hardison reaches for him again he stays perfectly still as he puts his arm around Eliot’s waist. “That’s a bit better, but you need to unwind.” Silence for a second. “Alec, I think we need some Attack of the Clones.” 

“Gotcha,” Hardison says and immediately reaches down to grab Eliot’s hand again to pull him along the beach. He’s...skipping? Maybe? In any case, he’s laughing and pulling Eliot towards the water. Eliot lets himself get led, bemused, and is somehow shocked when Hardison flicks water at him. He just stands there and Parker makes a frustrated sound. 

“Eliot, flick him back.” And because it’s Parker, he just does it. 

“Laugh a little, chase him.” So he does, lumbering after Hardison along the sand. Orders from Parker completely bypasses his brain to hands filter. They keep this up for a while, Parker telling him when to start, when to slow down, to smile or not smile. It’s all the things he should be doing as a new husband, all the things he wants to do as Eliot, and so it’s all of the things he can’t let himself have. He’s not sure where the damn line is. But he doesn’t need to figure it out, because Parker is there telling him how to be right. 

Hardison is smiling back at him, genuine. Or maybe he’s smiling back at Parker because it’s her actions, her plan, her touches. 

He doesn’t know what’s him and what’s Parker; it’s all tangled together in a muddle of smiles and half-truths and things he’d like to do but isn’t sure he can. He’s grabbing Hardison’s hips and holding him just for a second, feeling the warmth underneath his hands as Hardison smiles up at him, then letting him dart his way down the beach so he can do it all over again. 

He lets go when Parker says and then chases him because he has to, there’s no option of letting Hardison get away. 

The next time he grabs, he hears Parker still giving him instructions but something inside Eliot just goes _fuck it_ and he’s all over Hardison suddenly, tackling him into the wet sand and rolling him over and over. 

Hardison is laughing breathlessly, “But Eliot, I hate sand, it’s,” they roll again, “coarse and--” and Eliot shuts him up with a bite to his lower jaw, just where he knows Hardison likes it and Hardison lets out a choked off little sound. He holds Hardison there for just a second, lips hovering just above the skin where he can feel the leap of Hardison’s pulse in his jaw. 

Just for a second. 

Then he gets up and grabs Hardison’s hand to lever him up. Hardison glares at him a little as he wrings out his shirt but he disguises it as a look up from his eyelashes. “This shirt is never gonna dry right,” he mutters. Eliot just gives him an innocent look. 

But after that he’s all in, his second-guessing is gone. Maybe it’s not how old Eliot Spencer would behave, maybe this little dose is going to make it worse when he gets cut off again, but God help him, he’s giving in to the gnawing hunger inside, the grasping thing that wants to touch. 

He pins Hardison to his side on the walk, only separating to bring him beautiful shells that he sees in the surf. 

They get a picnic, and Eliot deploys the advantage of all their years together to order all of Hardison’s favourite things, which he feeds to him by hand. He presses individual strawberries into Hardison’s mouth like kisses. He chases the edge of a drip of juice with his thumb and spreads it across Hardison’s lips and when Hardison stumbles a little getting off of the blanket, Eliot is there immediately, supporting his weight. 

He figures he’s doing it right because Parker never says a thing. 

*** 

By the time they head back to the cabin to meet the bid courier, Eliot feels half drunk on touches and letting Hardison out of reach is conceptually impossible. All of his instincts are screaming at him to hold on and he has to use every ounce of his willpower to slowly separate them, like easing off a bandage to check the wound underneath. 

But then it’s done and Hardison walks away to get to the other room. 

Parker is holding the scarf she wore last night in her hands, scrunching and relaxing it. “I’m sorry,” she says, not looking at him. 

Eliot startles. “For what?” 

“I didn’t believe you when you said we weren’t dating. I kept pushing you.” She keeps staring at the damn scarf. 

Eliot feels lost. “I...I don’t.” He doesn’t know what comes after that but he reaches out his hand to touch Parker’s knuckles where they’re gripped so tight they’re white around the fabric. He flashes back to himself in the bathroom a couple of hours ago, just trying to hold on the way Parker seems to be doing too. 

She looks up at him. “I saw you today, with Alec.” His heart stops for a second. He’d done what she’d asked, but he’d also done more. Did he overstep? Show too much? It had been so hard to stop himself. “You were different.” 

“Different than what?” 

“Different than when you were with us. You were,” she makes a frustrated noise, “I don’t know! Different. I didn’t get what you meant when you said dating wasn’t the same as friends who have sex. Cause Alec and I, we aren’t different dating than before, we just have more snuggles. And we used to have lots of snuggles, the three of us, so I didn’t get that it wasn’t the same for you. Until. I saw it.” She’s biting her lip. 

From the bedroom Hardison calls out, “I’m going to go for a swim! Lemme know if you need me.” They both make noises of agreement but don’t break eye contact. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Eliot makes a small noise, a small wounded thing from the diaphragm as he grips Parker’s hand. “Don’t be sorry.” 

He tries to think about what he wants to say. How do you explain the various shades and gradiations of dating and sex and romance and friendship to someone who’s only recently built up her own model of what that means? Eliot’s not sure he understands it and he was steeped in so many social rules and understandings his whole life. No one ever explains any of this stuff, you just stumble through it and get your heart broken when you get it wrong. He was just trying to avoid that for all three of them. 

“I’m not,” he starts, “always like that, when I’m dating.” 

She looks at him understandingly. “But you are sometimes.” 

He has to admit, “Yeah.” He continues, “Yeah. I like to do special stuff. Gestures and things. Like when Hardison got you that cactus after the job with the honeypot women. That’s a dating thing to do.” 

She looks at him sharply. “ _You_ got me that cactus.” 

Eliot freezes, caught. Hardison was supposed to take the credit for that, can’t he do what he’s supposed to do for once in his life? 

But before he can try to explain his way out of this one, there’s a knock on the door. 

Parker covers the hand he’s placed on hers for a second, then releases and they split towards the door. She goes to the door as he places himself at 45 degrees of where it’ll open. She nods and steps back quickly as she opens it. 

It’s just the courier, the same person who handed him the iPad earlier, now with a handcuffed briefcase on his wrist, black to match his suit and the colour of the handle. 

Eliot gestures him in to sit on the side of the sofa closest to the door. At this point he’s probably used to being forced to sit back to the door and doesn’t complain. “Water?” Eliot offers. 

He gives him a started look for a second and says, “No. Thank you.” Eliot just nods and sits opposite him. 

Eliot doesn’t really need to be here for this, but he goes through the motions of listening about how this is going to go down. The courier is about to pass him an envelope with the current bid, and then he can write a higher number on the sheet of paper, which the courier is going to witness and record. Then it will all be locked in the briefcase and walked back. 

The lack of digital communication is a setback, but they didn’t only bring a hacker. 

Eliot looks at the current price and, woof, that’s a lot of zeros. He scrawls in something he thinks is suitably high but not ridiculously so. He shoves it back and the courier looks at it, no reaction. He makes a mark in his notebook, puts both the envelope and notebook in the briefcase and locks it. 

They nod at each other and Parker escorts him to the door. The whole transaction takes maybe two minutes. 

“I’m going to follow him,” she says, and ducks out. 

“How,” Eliot starts to ask but she is already gone, he thinks about the exposed nature of the long walkways, the expanse of beach with no trees. He shrugs, she’ll figure it out or she’ll call for help. 

He walks into the bathroom, cricks his neck a couple of times, thinks about taking a shower, decides to wait. He scratches his belly. The combination of high stakes spy intrigue bullshit and emotional whiplash has left him feeling strangely peaceful, actually. He feels like his outer shell has been cracked open and is floating in front of him, so he can watch the world through it, distanced and softened by the filter. But that also means the squishy emotional under-parts are just a little bit more exposed than normal. It leaves him with the sensation of being able to acutely feel the breath of the wind over his skin, but at a second or two delay. 

It feels like coming down off of the go-drugs they used to give his squad during high danger missions to keep them alert and awake for days on end, leaving the world with a hazy but ultra-real feeling. 

Maybe he should drink some water, he thinks, when he sees Hardison lift himself out of the pool and walk towards the window. _He’s dripping everywhere,_ Eliot thinks before Hardison turns and bends down to grab himself a towel. 

He turns back and starts dabbing at his neck and face. It does nothing for the water that’s still streaming down his chest between his pecs and snaking down his abs and into the close fitting shorts that were leaving very little to the imagination Eliot doesn’t even need to employ. He knows _exactly_ what he’ll see if he peels those shorts down with his teeth. 

Following the path of the water back up, he stops when he meets Hardison’s eyes locked on his through the glass. He doesn’t know what Hardison is seeing in his eyes, but Hardison’s are on fire, glowing from pupils that expand to fill Eliot’s entire field of view. 

The next thing Eliot knows, Hardison is sitting on the edge of the bed and Eliot is in his lap, their chests pressing together, Hardison’s hands on his hips pressing him down as Eliot grips his head to bring their mouths together. It’s like there is steam coming off of Hardison’s body, and it's boiling the blood in Eliot’s veins. Every time they breathe it fogs the space between them and leaves Eliot gasping against Hardison’s mouth over and over. He tries to push up, to push further into Hardison’s mouth, but Hardison grips his hips and pulls down and Eliot groans, throwing his head back. Hardison takes advantage by pressing a savage bite against Eliot’s collarbone just where he likes it. Eliot bucks but holds on. 

“I knew,” Hardison gasps between bites, alternating sides now, “I _knew_ you still wanted us.” 

“He always wanted us,” Parker says from the doorway to the bedroom. Eliot didn’t hear her come back in. “He just doesn’t want to date us.” Hardison strengthens his grip like he thinks Eliot is going to try to get away, but all Eliot does is turn to look at Parker. She is staring back, eyes just as hungry as Hardison’s, roving between them. 

They lose their momentum though and Hardison settles Eliot a little more firmly on his lap so Hardison can get enough space to say, “That’s just some bullshit you say, like ‘it’s not you, it’s me.’ It’s just cover so you don’t have to say ‘sorry I changed my mind, you’re not hot enough.’” 

Eliot knows he should say something but he’s stuck watching the roll of Parker’s hips as she comes closer. She frowns, and, again, Eliot knows this is serious but he just wants to pull her bottom lip between his teeth. 

“He means it though. He’s not like us, dating is different for him, it’s more than loving someone and wanting to be there for them and spend time together.” Parker’s real superpower isn’t her out-of-this-world thief skills, it’s her ability to just _say_ stuff like that, the things that people lock down inside. “Dating has rules and gestures.” 

Hardison pulls on Eliot’s hips so he takes the hint and turns to face him. “Is this true?” Hardison asks, and it's his turn to frown, “do you really not want to be with us?” 

“I,” Eliot starts and licks his lips. He thinks through all of the -- really good -- reasons he has for why this is a terrible idea. First of all, he loves them. He knows it is just a matter of time until they left him behind. They’ll get more serious about each other and drift away from him, and he’ll end up looking at something he wants, so close by, but not allowed to touch. 

He’s survived this long by always knowing when to get out so no one gets hurt and they’re asking him to blow all of that away. 

But then again, it already hurts. He knows it will get better, but he could _have_ it all right now, it doesn’t have to hurt at all, at least for a while. He can have this for as long as they’ll let him. 

So there’s only one thing to say, which is, “I do want to date you,” his voice is shaking but he goes on, anchored by the warmth of Hardison’s hands and the weight of Parker’s gaze. “I want to fall asleep with you at night, and cook your favourite foods, and bring you soup when you’re sick, and give you boosts when you’re breaking into buildings. I want to keep watching that stupid animated show with the guy who moves rocks with his mind and I want to surprise you with flowers for no reason except I miss you.” He pauses for a second, breathes, realises he’s closed his eyes. He opens them to see Parker and Hardison both looking back at him, eyes steady. “Is that what you want from me?” 

It’s Parker’s turn to lean in and she kisses Eliot and it feels like _yes._ She kisses him again, _yes._ They move against each other, Hardison keeping Eliot from falling and it’s _yes_ and _yes_ again. 

He needs more. Eliot feels like a bottomless pit of need has opened up in himself. 

He grabs for Parker’s waist, pulling her against him. At the same time, he switches back to kissing Hardison, trying to push everything he can into it. He convinced Hardison he didn’t want him? Fuck that. He’s going to blow that thought so far out of Hardison’s mind. 

Next to him, Parker makes a pleased noise. There’s a little bit in all three of them that loves to watch -- this probably never would have worked if they didn’t -- and he is going to put on a show. After the intensity of their first kisses, he changes it up and goes slow. He pulls back just enough from the kiss to lick along the bottom edge of Hardison’s lip and feels his mouth drop open in response as Hardison pants against him, every breath close enough for Eliot to take inside his own lungs. Then he presses his lips against the corner of Hardison’s mouth, kissing slowly towards the centre, pushing just a little harder every time until he finally slides his tongue back inside. Hardison pulls him in desperately, switching his grip from Eliot’s hips to his hair, holding him firmly so he can’t back away again. 

Parker’s getting impatient, he can tell from the way she’s starting to twitch and wriggle against him. He sweeps his hand down her back, one firm pass and she melts into it sighing. 

That’s a cue if he ever heard one and he tries to pull back, struggling against Hardison’s grip for a second, finally managing to get enough space to say, “Bed.” 

It’s a magic word cause it sets Hardison to scrambling back. One second Eliot is firmly pinned against his lap, idly grinding down to match the rhythm of their kissing, the next second Eliot is shoved back to his feet. 

Hardison’s trying to take his pants off. Eliot says trying, because he ends up hopping on one foot, trying to remove a sock with his left, while his right hand is working on his belt. Parker laughs. 

Hardison stops hopping, sock half off. “Oh, you think this is easy?” Hardison steps towards them, eyes intent. “Justifiably trying to get your clothes off as quickly as possible? Let’s see how easy it is for you when you’re properly _motivated_.” Hardison makes significant eye contact with Eliot when he says that and Eliot nods to show he got the message. 

They both turn to Parker and he can see her eyes go dark before they descend. Hardison approaches from the right, turning her head so he can devour her mouth with kisses. Eliot steps in close and places his hands flat against her shoulder blades, slowly pulling his palms down and around until he’s bracketing her breasts with his hands just so he can feel her, the outline of muscle underneath her shirt. Her strength is right underneath his hands. He takes a moment to admire as he can see her nipples tightening through the thin fabric of her bra and tank top just in response to the proximity of his fingers. He isn’t even touching them yet, the best sort of anticipation. He just looks for a moment before he leans in to pull her right nipple into his mouth. She starts moaning the second he gets his mouth around her but they turn high-pitched the second he starts applying the slightest amount of pressure with his teeth. Eliot smiles, feeling the fabric against his lips; her pleasure is intoxicating. 

Eliot switches to the other nipple briefly before he backs off. That’s Hardison’s cue to step back too and Parker giggles and says, “Fine! Last one naked is a rotten egg!” But Eliot isn’t willing to stop touching them yet, so instead of going for his own belt, he goes for the bottom edge of Parker’s shirt, helping her pull it up and off before reaching behind her to pinch the clasp of her bra. He showed Hardison how to do it one-handed and it is still one of his skills that he’s the most proud of. Maybe he can’t do a seamless lift on an alert mark, but he can smoothly take his partner’s bra off. 

He takes advantage of the stretch of skin he’s just exposed to lightly run his nails along Parker’s spine, relishing her shivers. His hands were just there, but it’s better now that there’s nothing between them. He’s about to move to help slide her pants off -- she’s helpfully already undone and unzipped them, but Hardison’s voice stops him. 

“This isn’t parity, Eliot.” Before Eliot could ask what he means, Hardison starts pulling and tugging on Eliot’s shirt. He gets a bit of it lifted and Eliot can feel the hot press of Hardison’s bare chest against his spine. Parker gets into the action and starts pulling and tugging, and there’s too many hands for Eliot to be particularly helpful, and also he’s hampered because one of his elbows is already trapped. So mostly what’s happening is that Eliot gets stuck halfway, face hidden and arms pinned down by fabric, struggling for a second before Hardison decides it is his turn to laugh. 

“Guys,” Eliot tries to say threateningly, but it comes out mostly petulant and distinctly muffled. 

Parker gives him a pat on the stomach, but they both back off so Eliot can get out of it himself. When he finally manages it, presumably destroying his hair, he turns around in triumph to see Parker and Hardison naked on the bed, idly stroking each other’s sides as they stare at him avidly. He swallows, mouth suddenly dry. 

“What are you waiting for?” Parker asks huskily, looking at his pants meaningfully, and it’s like earlier, her words directly connected to his hands as they move immediately. The clink of a buckle and a quick slide and he’s naked too. 

Then he gets shy. 

He wants to show them that he’s all in, that the ball is in their court now. What happens next, and for how long, is all up to them. 

There’s so much skin, so many options, and he isn’t sure what he’s allowed. 

So he just stands there. 

Parker seems to catch on immediately. She holds out her hand and Eliot has to crawl forward to take it. She pulls him down between them and starts kissing him, Hardison getting in on the action this time, running his hands down Eliot’s chest, following his hands with his mouth. Eliot can always tell when it’s Hardison’s hands. They’re so big and warm, covering him. 

Parker whispers, “What do you want? Tell me what you want.” 

Eliot’s conflicted, this should be about what _they_ want. But he’s never been able to lie to Parker, no matter what. “I want to taste you,” he says. 

She pulls his head up by his hair and he shivers, it doesn’t quite hurt, just a sharp edge of sensation in counterpoint to the gentle way Hardison is caressing him. Parker looks him straight in the eye and says, “You want Hardison to fuck you?” 

Eliot lets his eyes drift closed. “Yeah,” he says, more a breath, a prayer, than a word. Parker knows him so well, she knows what he’s not saying underneath what he’s saying, knows how much he loves to feel her fall apart on his tongue while Hardison makes him shake. 

She tugs again and his eyes snap open. “Then you have to say it, Eliot. Tell him.” He looks at her pleadingly for a second. She knows what he wants and he’s already stripped so bare, does he have to beg, too? She looks back at him, calmly, solidly. _This is just what has to happen_ , her gaze says and he gets it. 

Parker lets Eliot turns his head to look at Hardison who has rocked back into his heels. Eliot looks up at him and says, “I want you to fuck me. I want to feel you,” he takes a breath. “I want you,” he says and watches the words hit. 

Hardison almost goes cross-eyed before saying, “Okay, yes. I can do this, I got this.” And he hustles off to go rummage in one of the suitcases, muttering as he throws things left and right. 

This gives Eliot a chance to turn back to Parker. She slides up a little onto the pillow and Eliot nestles between her thighs. It’s smooth, practiced, the work of a moment. She spreads her legs to make room for him and Eliot wants to drop down immediately, taste her heartbeat where she’s the hottest. But he doesn’t. He’s going to show her everything he remembers, give her all her favourite things. He starts at her ribcage, scraping his teeth against each rib, biting his way down to her hips. He sucks on the skin right above her hip bone, the edge of the v leading downwards. He keeps up the pressure until her hips are rolling and only then does he sweep around from the outside to the inside of her thighs to hold them open. 

It’s just in time too because he feels Hardison’s weight drop back onto the bed. He goes to lift up but Hardison just puts a hand in the middle of his back and says, “I got this.” 

So Eliot focuses back on Parker, letting the way Hardison circles his hole with one slick finger fuel the way his tongue works against her. He starts with long slow licks, starting low and flicking at the top. They’re gentle and thorough but when Hardison adds a second finger Eliot goes firmer, pressing harder against her, trying to pass on what he’s feeling to her. Parker’s starting to sweat and Eliot’s not doing much better. The way Hardison’s placed him, he can grind a little against the mattress, just a little bit of friction for himself. 

Hardison goes to three and Eliot gets a little desperate. The more Hardison drives him, the harder it is to go slow, so he changes it up. He sweeps his right hand up and in to pet at Parker, not pressing inside, just lightly stroking as he focuses on her clit, carefully suckling it into his mouth. She starts gasping the second he gets his lips around her but then he starts tapping the tip of her hood with his tongue and now she’s moaning continuously now, louder and louder as Eliot varies his speed and positioning. 

“I can’t -- I can’t wait anymore,” Hardison says behind her and Eliot hums his acknowledgement, drawing a full body shudder out of Parker before he pulls back to go back to the long licks. Knowing he’s making her feel good is doing it for him, but he knows it’s more intense for Hardison. As much as Hardison loves to feel, he loves to hear them just as much. Hardison lifts his hips just a little and there goes his friction but it doesn’t matter. As soon as Hardison pushes inside, Eliot realises he’s not going to hold it together. It hasn’t been that long, only a couple of weeks, but it’s so _much,_ his whole body screaming at him that he’s an _idiot,_ that he almost gave it _up,_ and demanding that he pay attention. 

Then Hardison is all the way inside and waiting. Eliot licks at Parker a little desperately, trying to make it good for her, trying to focus, to distract himself. “Shh,” Parker says, and pets his hair. Hardison’s hands come up to do the same on his sides. 

He settles and Parker must feel it in the way he slows his tongue because she says, “Okay,” and Hardison pulls back. 

Eliot and Hardison moan in tandem. “You feel so good,” Hardison says and Eliot feels a flush spread down from his neck. He wants to make Hardison feel good, wants to be good for him in every way. 

It doesn’t take long before Eliot gives up even a semblance of technique and Parker has to take over. This might be his dirty secret, but he might like this part the best, when he just braces his arms under her thighs, hands supporting her back as she grinds against his face. He just has to hold on and move the way she directs him to, a gentle tug pulling him left or right, harder or softer and when he’s just right, all he has to do is work to hold in place as she cries out against him, bucking against his tongue. 

It’s harder, of course, because Hardison’s thrusts push him up the bed every time. It’s a delicate balancing act, trying to push back and move with Hardison, but not throw Parker off so he can keep getting her just right. 

But his body knows this rhythm, body moving against body against body. What’s really getting to Eliot is how it’s the _same._ His hands know how to fit Parker’s body, knows how to move when Hardison pushes him. There’s a sense of rightness, every puzzle piece clicking into place as they drive each other forward. And maybe he’d been worried, with how tense things had been between them, but. Their bodies haven’t forgotten; they know how to be together. 

Eliot’s not even thinking of his own pleasure, almost ignoring his own dick, too lost in just _feeling_. Feeling the way Parker drips and jerks against him, her taste a combination of musky and slightly sweet; feeling the way Hardison’s thighs bunch and ripple against Eliot’s, the sharp sound of their bodies colliding as he thrusts again and again, the bite of Hardison’s fingers on his hips as he holds him in place to take it. 

He doesn’t start to think about his own orgasm until Parker shatters, her grip almost brutal as she clamps down on him, twitching ever so slightly, just enough that he keeps working her clit until she finally pushes his head away. She pushes herself up the bed just a little bit more so she can get a better view and suddenly Eliot’s orgasm is right there, hovering right behind his eyes. It snuck up on him when he wasn’t paying attention. 

Shakily, Eliot pushes himself up onto his hands so he can reach down with his right hand, still sticky from Parker to wrap around his dick and Hardison -- _that fucker--_ slows down. He can’t get there just like this. 

“Goddamn it Hardison,” Eliot growls but Hardison just makes a pleased noise and keeps going achingly slowly. Eliot breaks. “Please Hardison, please, please let me come.” 

Hardison switches his grip, moves one of his hands to Eliot’s shoulder, uses the other one to pull their thighs together. They’re touching everywhere now, Hardison blanketing him. It gets Hardison just a little deeper as he rocks in, not even pulling out, just edging deeper and deeper into Eliot like a wave. “Yes, Eliot, come on.” 

Eliot makes a wordless sound of frustration, just on the edge of a sob. 

“I’ve got you. I’m not going to stop.” Eliot’s shaking now, he’s going to fall, he can’t hold himself up. “I’ve got you.” 

Hardison rocks back onto his heels, kneeling, using the grip he has on Eliot’s thigh and shoulder to pull Eliot with him. And that’s it, Eliot’s gone. His orgasm comes out of him in pulses as he spasms on top of Hardison. Hardison doesn’t wait him out, just starts slamming up as much as he can pinned under Eliot’s weight and Eliot lied, _this_ is his favourite part, after he’s already come and he knows that Hardison isn’t going to stop. He loves being shivery with oversensitivity and feeling just how much Hardison wants him, shivering with it, too. 

They stay there for a second, after. Then Parker gracefully rolls herself up and gives Hardison a kiss, then Eliot, heedless of his sticky mouth. “Beautiful,” she says. 

*** 

Afterwards, they’re all lying in the bed in a sweaty, slightly stuck together pile. Hardison ties the condom off and throws it vaguely window-wards, which is gross, but it’s not their house and so not Eliot’s problem. Through some feat of social engineering, they’ve gotten Eliot into the centre. He thinks he gets it though, if he thought he’d lost Parker and gotten her back, he’d want to keep her close. It’s just weird to apply that sort of thinking to himself, but apparently they do wan to keep him. He presses his tongue against his lips where he can still feel the imprint of the kisses they shared; it’s in the way they feel hot and so tender that they almost sting. 

He lets himself settle into it, gently brushing his thumb against the skin he can reach, Parker’s shoulder where his arm is wrapped around her, Hardison’s thigh where his right hand is stretched out to touch. 

“You know what this means, don’t you?” Hardison says. Parker cracks open an eye and lifts her head slightly from Eliot’s chest to meet his suspicious gaze. “This means you’re so easy, Eliot. One morning with my charms and you folded like beginner’s origami.” 

Eliot’s never been described as easy before. “Hm,” he says, not agreeing. 

“The only other option is that I’m a sex God.” 

“You’re a sex God,” Eliot says totally deadpan and just smiles serenely when Parker loses it, cackles barely muffled against his chest. 

*** 

They have to get up eventually if they want to keep the plan moving. And besides, Eliot has to meet Seb and sell him on a partnership with Eliot. 

“Make sure he knows you’re off the market,” Hardison admonishes him when he’s about to head out. 

“Alec, he’s not trying to seduce Eliot,” Parker says absentmindedly, like she’s said it before, maybe more than once. 

“Agree to disagree.” Hardison turns to him, “You just know, you leave, I will hunt you down. I have a very specific set of skills.” 

Parker has her head cocked like a bird during Hardison’s speech. When he finishes, she says, “Taken,” and then dismisses them both to check the knots in some ropes she’s working on. 

*** 

Dinner with Seb is appropriately normal. It’s served on the verandah, which would be a weakness except there isn’t a sniper perch within miles and they’d definitely see if someone snorkeled up, so Eliot lets himself enjoy it. The food is predictably excellent, and they talk about nothing for a while, catch up on some old contacts. Surprisingly few of their mutual acquaintances are dead, which is refreshing. If this meal holds to others of its type, they won’t start to talk real business till the dessert brandy. 

They’re just about to start on the main, some sort of fresh-caught fish, when Parker’s voice comes over the comms, hushed, panicked. “They took him. They took Alec.” 

Eliot doesn't think, doesn’t telegraph. He throws the table and a second later, he has Seb secured as a human shield, knife pressed against his throat. 

“Where,” he growls. 

“Eliot, Eliot, calme toi,” Seb says. Eliot’s knife tightens on his throat. This is the moment of total alignment between Eliot Spencer: killer of men and Eliot Spencer: property of Hardison and Parker. He doesn’t have to do anything to stop his eyes from going as flat and intent as he wants them to. “Think about this. I have fifteen guards. What is your plan?” Eliot doesn’t need a plan. 

“Where did you take him?” His hand doesn’t shake. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

The covers are wiped from his mind, he can’t remember. God, why can’t he remember? He can’t make it worse now if they haven’t figured out the prize they’ve got. “My -- my husband. You took him. My bodyguard told me.” Parker says, _“I went to do the switch and when I came back he was just...gone.”_

“I didn’t. I swear. Eliot, you know me, please.” Seb’s voice is tight, potentially a byproduct of how hard Eliot is pressing the knife against his throat, but possibly also because he knows that Eliot would not hesitate. Eliot has killed for lesser transgressions than this. 

“Bullshit. Who else would --” he thinks about it. Ambroos is the only other motherfucker crazy enough. But why? He keeps his grip tight but lightens up on the knife. 

Seb breathes easier. 

“If I let you go, what happens to me?” 

“Nothing, I swear.” He looks at his guards, all of them with guns drawn. “Lower your weapons.” Grudgingly they do it. Also grudgingly, so does Eliot. 

Eliot makes to leave. “Wait,” Seb says. 

Eliot turns, incredulous. 

“I will help you.” 

“Why?” 

“You will owe me a favour?” 

Eliot knows what that means. “No deal.” He turns again. Seb curses in French in the background. 

“Because Ambroos has been making a play for my power since you took down Damien and if your husband is hurt under my protection no one will trust my guarantees ever again. Even if you get him back, I am ruined.” 

Eliot thinks it through. “Unless you come down like the righteous fury of God.” 

Seb gives him a nod. Eliot considers it for another second. 

“Fine. But if you cross me --” 

“Yes, yes, you are very fearsome and will send my life to ruins.” 

He looks Seb straight in the eye, takes a step closer just to see the way his pupils dilate and his body tries not to flinch away. “Yes. I will.” Seb swallows. 

Eliot thinks of what to do. But he can’t think. He needs Parker. 

“Tell him to call Ambroos,” she says and he almost goes weak. Parker knows what to do. 

He starts to repeat what she’s saying. “Call Ambroos,” he says. “Tell him he’s winning the bid.” It seems too simplistic. 

Seb frowns. “He must know he isn’t.” 

“That’s not the point,” Eliot and Parker say, “He’s planning to reveal you’re fixing the bids. He can’t do that if he’s winning, he’ll have to let you in.” 

“We don’t know that your man is there.” Eliot notices that he doesn’t deny the bid-fixing. 

“He has to be,” and Eliot isn’t sure if that’s Parker knowing something, or just wanting it to be true. 

But Seb does what he’s told and seems to be surprised that Ambroos agrees. 

Eliot looks around the room. He points at the four guards who look least like they’re about to pass out and says, “Come with me,” he points at the rest of them, “the rest of you, secure the egress points.” They nod and look relieved, respectively, which confirms his choices. 

There’s no way to stealthily approach Ambroos cabin, so they don’t bother. 

A Fury opens the door for them. 

Ambroos looks fully smug, standing in his white suit, and Eliot just wants to smash his face in. 

“So,” Ambroos begins ponderously, “it seems we are in a standoff.” 

“Where is he?” Eliot cuts him off at the pass. Ambroos looks put out. “You can speech later, I want proof of life.” 

Ambroos nods and Richa pulls open the door to the bedroom. Hardison is there, tied to a chair, bag on his head, gun trained on him. But he’s breathing. It’s fast, but even, and Eliot can’t see any blood. Eliot takes an involuntary step forward and Richa puts out her hand. Message received. Eliot stands back. 

They pull the bag off of Hardison’s head and he blinks in the light. Immediately, he sees Eliot. “Don’t you dare use this as an excuse to break up,” he says, and his voice is so normal Eliot is relieved and then immediately very angry. “You are not Batman, Eliot Spencer. Don’t you even think about it.” 

“Shut up, Hardison.” But Eliot is reassured, which was probably Hardison’s intent. 

Richa closes the door, hiding Hardison from view. 

“As you can see, I have the cards,” Ambroos says. 

“You’ve only got two guards, since you’ve got one securing my husband, and I could take them out, no problem.” He looks over, “Sorry, Richa.” 

She quirks her lips. “No offense taken.” 

“And risk his life? I think not.” 

Eliot shrugs. “I get a knife to your throat, I get what I want.” 

One of Seb’s guards shifts uncomfortably, reminded of how easy it was to control them. But if Eliot is tense then he wants to spread that around. 

_“I’m approaching the hut, keep them talking,”_ Parker says over the comm. 

“What do you want?” He asks so Parker will know he’s stalling for time. He’s not personally interested in anything Ambroos has to say. 

“I want the ledger, the real one, with the bids.” 

Seb shoots a glance over at the courier, who pats his breast pocket desperately and then shakes his head, a look of nausea on his face. 

“You didn’t.” Seb sounds almost impressed. 

Eliot shrugs. 

“You see, my friend Sebastien, how I have also done you a favour.” 

“By kidnapping Eliot Spencer’s husband?” Seb sounds incredulous now. 

“He’s not his husband, he’s a thief.” Ambroos paces a little. “But I could not fail to notice that Eliot does seem to be genuinely fond of him and so he is good leverage.” 

Seb’s look of incredulousness continues to grow. “Of course he’s a thief. Everyone knows Eliot associates with thieves now, it was not hard to put together. But equally everyone could see how devoted Eliot is to him. You’re saying that you thought you could do violence against his companion and somehow avoid potentially nuclear levels of death and destruction?” Seb’s voice has been steadily rising in pitch. “We all remember Barranquilla.” 

Ambroos looks mildly affected, but he is currently protected by megalomania. A more powerful cause of delusions has never been distilled. But Eliot can see that Richa is considering it. 

Seb continues, “So how about you surrender to me, and I don’t let Eliot go at you.” Eliot doesn’t really like being used as an attack dog, but it’s for a good cause, so he thinks some menacing thoughts. 

Ambroos wavers. “But he was cheating you.” 

Seb waves around the room, “So were you! So was everyone.” He sneers, “That is the game, and if you cannot play it, I will take you off the board.” 

Ambroos looks around desperately, but Eliot knows they have him when Richa puts up her hands and backs away. He has always liked her, she’s a true pragmatist. 

Ambroos breaks. Not physically, he’s still standing there, but something inside. It’s as if he shrinks two sizes. 

Seb says, “Secure him.” It’s the work of seconds to get Ambroos trussed up like a turkey. 

Seb turns to Eliot and smiles. “Shall we release your man?” 

Eliot clears his throat and says, “That won’t be necessary.” 

While Ambroos and Seb were having their contest of wills, Eliot was listening to Parker row up to the building, shimmy along the underside, climb into the bedroom, taser the guard from behind, and whisk Hardison away. He’s not even going to ask where she got the boat. 

The courier throws open the door to the bedroom to reveal the curtains fluttering against an open patio, a collapsed Fury on the ground, and a distinct lack of hostages. 

And here is the difference between the Eliot he is now and the Eliot that these men knew. The old Eliot would never let Ambroos live; hell, Seb would also be in an ambiguous place. But because he has Parker and Hardison, he has options. They’re the difference between a life of violence and the grace to offer mercy. That’s what it means to have partners. 

“The way I see it,” it’s Eliot’s turn to monologue now, “you’re going to let me walk away from here, you’re going to sell me your documents -- at a reasonable price of my choosing, and we’ll call this a lovely vacation and part ways.” 

Seb’s lips are going tight and Eliot knows he only has a few more seconds. 

“If anything happens to me, I will release full copies of both parts of the ledger and you can deal with your international resort guests when they find out you were price-jacking them.” Eliot takes a breath, hopes he’s sold it, and says, “Whaddya say, Seb, we have a deal?” 

“You seem to have my feet against the wall.” 

“You can think of it as me doing you a favour, in some ways I’m the best possible buyer for you.” Seb can tell what Eliot isn’t saying: this way no one finds out you can’t deliver. Your empire of sand stays stable a moment longer. “And don’t act so betrayed, you were just about to threaten or blackmail me --” he cuts Seb off when he opens his mouth, “don’t deny it.” He flicks his hair back. “I ain’t begrudging you, we both are who we are.” 

“Don’t you want to hear my offer?” Seb steps in close. “We were something to behold, once.” 

Eliot smiles, almost involuntarily. “I’ve got something better now. But because we _did_ have something, I’m giving you the chance to get out. All you have to do is take it.” 

Seb sniffs. “D’accord. But if we meet again?” 

Eliot shakes his head once, sharply. “How about we keep it simple and don’t meet again.” 

Seb smiles back at him, a real expression, with teeth. It makes him look younger. “Very well.” And he goes, dragging Ambroos. 

*** 

Eliot waits a few minutes to be sure they’re gone. “Ok, looks clear.” 

Parker and Hardison pop up. Parker is shaking her head. “I can’t believe they didn’t look under the house. That’s the first place to hide!” 

Eliot grabs them both and holds them tight. Speaking directly into Parker’s hair, he says, “Other people aren’t as smart as you.” He steps back to give them a critical eye, “Hardison, you hurt?” 

“I’m ok, man, I’m ok.” 

“Nate and Sophie are going to be pissed they missed this one,” Parker sounds pleased about it. 

“Where do you think they are now?” Eliot wonders. 

“Well, it’s a twenty-two hour flight, and they chartered a private jet about twenty-one hours ago, so they're probably getting ready to set down on that landing strip.” Hardison waves back to the main building. Well that at least that solves the ‘where do we get a ride’ problem. 

“Well, isn’t that just convenient timing.” Eliot’s feeling pretty pleased with himself, so it takes him a second to notice that Parker seems a little withdrawn. 

He frowns. “Parker, what’s wrong?” 

“He wanted you to leave with him.” 

“Yeah, but I didn’t go, I’d never go.” He already knows it’s true but it feels good to say it out loud. 

“But Alec was also worried.” 

Eliot whips his head to look at Hardison. Hardison says, “The Batman thing? I was stressing, we’re cool.” 

Parker is shaking her head. “You wouldn’t have said it if you didn’t think it, at least a little.” 

Hardison shrugs, uncomfortable, and Eliot feels a sense of dread. He spent so much time thinking about his doubts, his fears, he didn’t think about what leaving had made Hardison feel, and maybe Parker too. He never wants them to feel bad, he wants to fix this. 

How does he fix this? “What can I do,” he asks. “I know I left before, but I swear, I won’t again.” He looks at Parker, looking for a sign, but his heart just sinks seeing that her brow is just furrowed. 

“I don’t know! Something. I want something, I just --” Parker makes a frustrated noise. 

Slowly, Hardison says, “I know some things you could promise.” 

Eliot turns to Hardison gratefully. “Tell me.” 

Hardison grips both of Eliot’s hands. “You could promise to love us, honour us.” Eliot knows what this means and his heart is jumping up while his stomach is swooping down. He’s almost light-headed. Hardison can’t mean what Eliot thinks he means. “Maybe even throw in an obey us?” 

Parker pinches Hardison in the side. “Don’t be mean when you’re proposing!” 

Eliot chokes up. “You can’t mean…” This is so much more than anything he could have expected from Hardison. 

Hardison says, “I know you. You wouldn’t make those promises if you didn’t mean to keep them till your dying day. And that’s what I want.” There’s a part of him that’s always thinking ‘until.’ ‘This is a good safehouse until it’s compromised.’ ‘This is safe until it’s not.’ ‘This is love...until it stops.’ 

Hardison sees him at his worst and is still saying ‘I don’t just want you until I’m bored, I want you forever.’ 

Eliot looks at Parker. “Did you talk about this?” 

She shakes her head. “No. But I want it.” She pulls one of Eliot’s hands out of Hardison’s grip. “I want forevers with you.” She looks at him, direct and brutally honest, like always. “Do you want that?” 

And he only has one answer. “I do,” he says. 

They all breathe for a second and Eliot feels a smile growing on his face. Hardison’s got the same and Parker too. Looking at her be happy makes him happy. It’s like a reinforcing loop of joy. 

Eliot has one thing he has to say, “But I want a real honeymoon. One that's not here.” 

Parker laughs. 

“Deal,” Hardison says, and pulls Eliot into a kiss. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are loved! If you've got a preferred location for an OT3 honeymoon, I'd love to hear it.
> 
> The whole time in Hardison is in the background like: son of a bitch, every single one of Eliot's exes is still in love with him.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] The Thunderous Roll of a Tropic Sea (the moonlit memory I can't seem to lose) | written by phnelt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22366846) by [Tipsy_Kitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tipsy_Kitty/pseuds/Tipsy_Kitty)




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